


The Impatient Patient

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A One Night Stand?, AU-First Meeting, Doctor John Watson, Explicit Sexual Content, Hospital, M/M, Sherlock Does Something Sweet, Sherlock Flirts, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-17
Updated: 2014-10-17
Packaged: 2018-02-12 09:04:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2103708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock gets a concussion and can't stop flirting with his handsome doctor. When he's no longer John's patient, how will things change?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. At The Hospital

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. Please take a look at our other works. Just a note, though, there's pretty much always going to be smut. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst, but always smut. We can't help it: that's just the way we are.
> 
> We plan to add new work each weekend, so please subscribe. 
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments --they mean so much. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

"Where am I?"

"Shut up, Sherlock," Mycroft said. He was reading the paper across the room. Once he'd finished the article, he set the paper down and walked across to the bed where Sherlock lay. "You're in hospital."  
  
"Why?" Sherlock lifted a hand to his head but got it tangled in the cord of the IV.

"Because you are an idiot," Mycroft said.

Sherlock reached for the nurse button. When she came in, he said, "This man is holding me here against my will."  
  
"No, he's not," the nurse said, checking the machine. "You came in with a concussion, remember? But you were . . . misbehaving so we had to help you give your brain a little rest."  
  
"And his mouth," Mycroft chipped in.

"Go to hell," Sherlock said.

"Now, now," the nurse said, holding the button just in case she had to ring for help. "Do you know your name?"

"Prince Philip," said Sherlock.

The nurse sighed. "Do you know this man's name?"

Sherlock looked over at Mycroft. "Well, he's the queen but I can't remember if it's Elizabeth the First or Second."

"Can you tell me how many fingers I'm holding up?" she asked, flicking Sherlock the V sign.

"Rude," Sherlock said. "I need to put in a complaint. This man and woman are harassing me!" he shouted.

"You, Mr Holmes, are a very annoying patient," the nurse said. She pushed the call button.

John was just coming back to the front desk when he saw everyone looking busy. Oddly busy. Stacking blank papers, refilling a stapler, checking if the pens still write . . . odd. He glanced around and noticed a call light was going off and then two people looking away from him quickly. The secretary smiled guiltily. "Room 534," she said.

John sighed and looked down the hall. He'd heard everyone talking about that patient already. Rude, loud, refused to cooperate . . . so, of course, he would be pawned onto the new guy. "Oh. All right then," he sighed, taking the chart before heading that way. He looked through it as he went before knocking on the door and stepping inside.

"Mr Holmes, hello. I am Dr Watson, I'll be taking care of you tonight. Can you tell me why you're shouting please?"

Sherlock looked up. "This nurse was making inappropriate advances towards me," he said. The nurse sighed loudly and left the room. "I think she might have done something while I was asleep. I'm willing to say no more about it if you could please just get me out of here." He leaned in. "Don't send me home with that man," he whispered, nodding his head towards Mycroft, "he's been holding me hostage."  
  
"Dr Watson," Mycroft said, without looking up from his phone. "If you've read my brother's chart, you will know that he hit his head when he unwisely jumped into the Thames instead of letting the Metropolitan Police do their job. I don't doubt that somewhere in that chart it also mentions that he is extremely obnoxious and you have my permission to sedate him again. Quite frankly, most of the people he interacts with on a daily basis would happily sedate him if they had access to the drugs that you do."

"Are you going to let him speak to your patient like that?" Sherlock whispered to the doctor.

Mycroft put away his phone and stood up. "Can you assure me he won't die? Because if you can, I'd like to take my leave."

"I can assure you that he won't die," John said. He turned back to Sherlock. "Mr Holmes, unfortunately I can't send you anywhere until I'm sure the concussion has passed. You won't be able to sleep, so I'm afraid you're in for a boring night. Even more unfortunately, there are actually sick patients here that need to rest so you'll have to be quiet as well. We could sedate you, or you can cooperate and make this easier for everyone involved."

John folded his arms in front of him and waited for an answer.

"What do I get if I'm good?" Sherlock asked.

"You get to leave," John said with a small shrug. "Everyone wins." He smiled softly. "Is there something else you'd like?"

"That man to leave," he said, but when the doctor stepped away, they both saw that Mycroft was already gone.

"You're good," Sherlock said. "I don't know how you did that, but thus far, you have made all my dreams come true. Do you have anything you can shoot into that IV that would make the waiting a little more pleasant for me?"

"Plenty of things, I'm sure. But you're not getting any of them. You've had medicine for pain and there are fluids running steadily. The only thing I can give you is hourly check-ins to make sure you're awake," John said.

"What am I supposed to do here now for an hour until you come back? I'll be bored out of my brain," Sherlock groaned. "Just sedate me again then. If you don't even care enough to give me round the clock attention, just sedate me because I don't think I want to be in a world where a patient's needs come secondary to flirting with nurses or whatever it is you're rushing off to do."

"Believe it or not, Mr Holmes, you are not my only patient. And frankly, it's going to be difficult enough coming in every hour and yet I will do that because if you fall asleep you might die. I won't sedate you unnecessarily. Now, I have to go. I'll be back in a bit." John stepped out of the room and shut the door. Three nurses were looking down at him. He ignored them and continued on down the hall to check on others.

Sherlock humphed loudly as John left. He had a look around and then closed his eyes, trying to remember what had happened. He could see little pieces of it but not the whole picture. His eyes felt heavy. He wished he could go to sleep.

But the doctor said he'd die if he went to sleep, so he reluctantly opened back up his eyes. He reached for the remote and flipped through the television channels. Boring. He waited as long as he possibly could and then he pushed the call button.

John was coming out of the room at the end of the hall when he ran into the secretary. "Sorry," he said. "What's up?"

"Um. Sorry. His light's on and . . . well . . .you're the only one he hasn't shouted at." She was wringing her hands and looking at him nervously.

"Yes, that's fine. I will go in if his light's on." John made his way down to the room again, not bothering to knock this time.

"Mr Holmes. What is it now?"

"I just wanted to tell you that I almost went to sleep, but didn't because you told me not to," Sherlock said. "Since I was a good boy, can I please have my reward and go home now?"  
  
John opened his mouth and then closed it again into a smile. "No. You have to wait until morning. I know it's boring. But we want you to survive." He turned to the door again but then paused and turned back. "Why did you jump into the Thames?"

"I'm not sure I entirely remember," Sherlock said. "But I'll try. I'll report my findings the next time you come round. Thank you, Doctor, for being so devoted to my survival." He winked.

John rolled his eyes playfully at the wink and left again, this time heading for the desk to do some paperwork. It wasn't as crowded as before but no one would look over at him still. He shook his head and picked a good spot, getting to work.

Sherlock tried to think. Mycroft had said it had to do with the police. So that means a case, but he couldn't get his mind to remember the details. He reached over to the cabinet next to his bed. Inside was a carrier bag with a few things in it. Thankfully, his phone was one of those things. He turned it on and looked through the messages and started to remember.

He got online and tried to read the news. He read the report of the murderer's capture and felt pleased with himself and glad that Lestrade hadn't mentioned his name. Then he was bored again. He looked around the room. There was a book on the table on the other side of the room. Perhaps it was something Mycroft had left for him. He pushed the button to sit himself up and then slowly moved himself out of the bed, dragging the IV alongside. He got to the book. It was the Bible. He brought it back with him anyway and climbed into the bed.

John couldn't help checking the time, worried too much would pass before he had to go check on Sherlock. He wasn't as bad as everyone had made him seem -- a little peculiar and demanding, but he'd seen so much worse. Just before the hour mark he got up and made his way to the room. He knocked and stepped in. "Mr Holmes, can you tell me why you jumped into the Thames now?"

"I was helping apprehend a man who had murdered three people. One of them a doctor . . . so you're welcome," Sherlock said. He looked up at the man. He was quite handsome, and the way he was so patient with Sherlock was both annoying and kind of endearing. "I'm bored and that is making my head hurt," he said. "Can't you help me, please?"

"You were chasing a murderer? Do you work with the police, then?" John asked, trying to keep him distracted. "That was a dangerous thing to do."

"I live for danger, Dr Watson," Sherlock said. "Don't you?"

"Not exactly," John shook his head. "But I heard you caught him. Makes this sort of worth it, I suppose, since you weren't seriously hurt."

"Then why are you holding me hostage here?"

"I'm not holding you hostage, I'm keeping you safe," John said.

"Are you though? You're hardly ever in here. I could get up to some right danger while you're outside this room." Sherlock said.

"I doubt it -- everything is rather tamper proof in here," John said.

"Is that a challenge, Dr Watson? Because I love a challenge as much as I love danger," Sherlock said, smiling cheekily. "I accept. I guarantee you that by the next time you come in to check on me, I will have got myself into some proper trouble. What do I win if I meet your challenge?"

"It's not a challenge," John said quickly. "Please don't get into trouble. You only have a few more hours, and I just want you to make it to the morning safely. Please?" John had been ready to offer him a reward if he was good, but he felt like that might cross some sort of line.

"What is going on in this hospital? First a nurse fondles me while I'm unconscious and now you are giving me puppy dog eyes. Really, I was unaware that seduction was available on the NHS," Sherlock said, smiling a bit when he saw the doctor's cheeks flush.

"I wasn't! I just . . . I need you to get better, okay? I want you to get better and not die halfway through the night," he said. "And I doubt she fondled you."

"Why? Do you think I'm un-fondle-able?" Sherlock asked. "Don't you find me handsome?"

"That's not really . . . I'm sure you're very fondle-able," John said, making a face at the word. And then he realised what he said and he flushed lightly. "I have to go check on some other patients. I'll be back in a bit," he said, moving to the door again. 

Sherlock smiled as the doctor left the room. He picked up his phone and sent Mycroft a few abusive texts. He closed his eyes a few times -- he was rather tired and his head hurt quite a bit. He flicked through the Bible on his lap and waited for Dr Watson to return.

When he did, Sherlock said, "Forgive me, Doctor, I have sinned. What's my punishment?"

"I'm a doctor, not a priest," John smiled. "Perhaps when you get out of here you can go find one. As a doctor, I have to do my job and check your vitals." He came closer to the bed and put the stethoscope to his chest. "Deep breath, please."

Sherlock took a deep breath. "I was just reading the Bible, and it says here that envy is a sin. I'm afraid I was coveting my neighbour's doctor. I'm jealous of all the time you spend on other patients. It isn't fair,” Sherlock said.

"Well, you can come see me during my office hours and I'll be all yours," he said. He moved the stethoscope to the other side of his chest and motioned for another deep breath. Then he moved it to Sherlock's back and motioned for another.

When the stethoscope was on his back, Sherlock quickly unbuttoned his shirt and opened it wide. "Check my front again, please, I was talking and you might have missed something," he said. He pressed his head back onto the pillow and closed his eyes.

John's eyes moved over Sherlock's chest and stomach. He bit his lip lightly. _You're a professional!_ John shook his head and huffed on the end of the stethoscope. "Might be cold . . . deep breath," he murmured, pressing the metal over Sherlock's heart.

"Can you confirm I have one then?" Sherlock asked, smiling at the doctor. "A heart, I mean. Some say I don't, but I know I must because I can feel it skip a beat every time you walk into the room." Sherlock silently laughed at himself a little -- that bump on his head must have been worse than he'd thought because he couldn't quite believe how silly he was being. But the doctor was handsome and Sherlock was bored. "Sorry for talking again -- I'm supposed to be being quiet so you can tell me whether or not I'm still alive."

John felt his cheeks warm, and he couldn't help smiling. "You most certainly have a heart and it's beating just fine," he assured. He took the pieces out of his ears again and stepped back. "Even though you keep talking," he added, smiling wider.

"Just a quick question -- what kind of cake is your favourite? I need to know for the party," Sherlock said.

"Which party is that?" John asked.

"I was thinking of throwing a party to thank you -- you know, since you saved my life and all," Sherlock said. "What size crown do you wear? The guest of honour should always wear a crown."

John couldn't tell of Sherlock was mocking him -- was he being sarcastic? "That's really not necessary. Whoever pulled you out of the river saved your life. I'm just . . . doing my job," he said. "Which, actually, I have to get back to as I have a couple more patients. Then I'll be back again in a bit," he said. He moved out of the room again and took a deep breath to calm down a little. At least Sherlock wasn't shouting at him.

"I'll miss you," Sherlock called as the door shut. He dropped his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes for a few minutes before opening them up sharply, remembering he wasn't supposed to sleep. He grabbed his phone and set the alarm for three minutes. He held it in his hand against his chest and let his eyes close. But he couldn't sleep -- he just kept thinking about the alarm going on. This was maddening.

Then all of a sudden, his alarm woke him up so perhaps he had been able to sleep. He did that a few more times -- trying to stay awake longer and longer between quick naps.

When the doctor returned, Sherlock held his phone out. "I wrote you a poem," Sherlock said, showing him a website with [**Shakespeare's Sonnet 29**](http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/174357) displayed. "I don't know who this Shakespeare chap is and how he was able to plagiarise it from me so quickly since I just wrote it five minutes ago. But honestly, it's for you, Dr Watson."

John took the phone and read through the sonnet quickly before shaking his head, smiling, and handing the phone back. "Well, you'll have to report him, I suppose," John said. "You know . . . you're not acting very appropriately towards your doctor." He pulled over the blood pressure machine, fitting the cuff around his arm and starting it while he clipped the oxygen level clip to Sherlock's index finger. His fingers were long and slender, his arms small but strong. 

"I don't have to be appropriate," Sherlock said. "I didn't sign any oaths." He watched John take this blood pressure. "Nice pump action," Sherlock said and this time he did laugh aloud. "All right, it's a fair cop -- you got me. This was probably very inappropriate indeed. Sorry."

"You're going to make me order another brain scan -- are you feeling okay?" John got out a thermometer and opened his own mouth to motion for Sherlock to do the same. He put it under Sherlock's tongue, admiring his face. He knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't help it. "Shh," John said when he saw Sherlock about to start talking with the thermometer in his mouth. "One second." He continued looking at Sherlock, his eyes moving over his face until the machine beeped. Pulled from his little trance John took the cuff and clip off, pulling the machine back. "Well . . . I'll be back. You have just a couple more hours," he smiled. 

Sherlock reached up and grabbed his arm. "Are you angry with me?" he asked.

"What? No, of course not," John said, tilting his head a bit. "Why on earth would I be?"

"Because I'm flirting with you," Sherlock said.

John was a bit stunned with how easily he admitted it. "I . . . that doesn't make me angry. I just . . . can't _do_ anything about it because you are my patient. Oaths and all that," he said, waving his free hand. 

"Is that the only reason why?" Sherlock asked but didn't leave time for John to answer. "If you tire of it, you could also send the nurse with the grabby hands back in." He smiled.

"She wasn't grabby," John smiled. He moved closer to the bed and lowered his voice. "It's really not allowed, but like I said you have just a couple more hours before you're discharged."

"Interesting," Sherlock said. "A few more hours is a long time. I have a feeling I'd quite enjoy it if you fancy being equally inappropriate."

"I could be struck off," John said quietly, still close to the bed, his arm still in Sherlock's grasp, and his eyes fixed on Sherlock's. 

"Don't do that," Sherlock said, "or I'll feel guilty. Satisfied . . . but guilty."

"Just a couple more hours," John said, smiling at him. 

"I'm feeling better, I am," Sherlock said, "When is your shift over?"

"Eight," John said. "And I know you feel better, but we have to make sure."

Sherlock looked at his phone. "That seems like a very long time from now," he said. "How likely is it that the other people you keep going to check on might die between now and then? I only feel better when you're here."  
  
"Don't wish that on them," John scolded lightly. "What if I left you my pen? Then a part of me can be here with you," John smiled. 

"I suppose that will help," Sherlock said, holding his hand out. "Perhaps I'll use it to write some more poetry." He smiled. "Hurry off, then. I'll see when you get done checking on sleeping, boring people and would like to devote more time to your favourite patient."

John handed his pen over and grinned as he left the room. He went back to the desk, his same spot in the back, and continued on his paperwork. Sherlock was right about everyone else sleeping, but he couldn't stay in Sherlock's room all night. That wouldn't look too good to everyone else. 

Sherlock reached over into the carrier bag and retrieved his wallet. He pulled out one of his business cards but it was wet so the pen wouldn't write on it. He looked at the pen and wondered if it really belonged to John or if it was the hospital's. Oh my god, he was bored.

While John was working, he felt a tap on his shoulder. "Sorry, I know you're busy but -- it's just . . . we have to start his discharge papers if we want him to go home in the morning because it takes about an hour to work through the system. . . " The nurse let it hang, clearly waiting for John to offer. 

He took the envelope and nodded. "I'll do it," he said. After she thanked him and left, John made his way down to Sherlock's room. He slipped inside without knocking and smiled. "I came down to start your discharge," he said. 

"You're breaking up with me?" Sherlock asked, looking a bit alarmed.

"What? No, I mean the discharge papers for you to go home," John said, waving the folder. 

"Will you be able to take me home? I mean, don't put me in a taxi -- I could take a turn for the worse and you'd be responsible," Sherlock said.

"I can't," John said. "Unfortunately because he brought you in, I have to call your brother to come get you. But we can meet for breakfast?"

"Don't call him, come on, now, Doctor," Sherlock said. "I'm not much of a breakfast person, I'm afraid. Plus I might be dead by then. What with you forcing me out of here before I'm totally recovered."

"This is going to take a little while so please calm down," John smiled. "And what kind of person are you, then?"

"A person who cannot be trusted to look after himself," Sherlock said. "I'm afraid I'm going to need follow up treatment. Do you offer that?"

"I do," John smiled. "Despite the modern times I could even make a home visit. Patients first, after all."

"That's wonderful to hear," Sherlock said. "So what do I need to do with these so-called papers?"

"There's basically a lot of signing -- saying that I came to see you, that you understand what happened to you, that we went over preventative and home care, things like that." John handed him the folder and a second pen.

"But I'm not totally sure what happened and I don't remember you talking about preventative or home care," Sherlock said. "Unless your offer of breakfast was preventative care? Was it?"

"Preventative care would be don't jump into the Thames, wouldn't it?" John smiled. "And yes, breakfast and a home visit could count as home care."

"So I just have to promise not to jump in the river and have breakfast with you and then I'm safe?" Sherlock asked.

"Free to go, yes," John smiled wider. 

"I'm not sure how to live on the outside world now," Sherlock said. "I think the head injury has changed me -- I used to know what I'm doing but now . . . I don't know . . ."

John's brows furrowed a bit and suddenly he got really worried. "Are you being serious? Do you still not remember some things?" he asked, moving to look at his pupil function with a small flashlight. 

"I like when your face is close to mine," Sherlock whispered. "I'm all right to go home on my own. If I can't on my own, call DI Lestrade instead of my brother, please."

John lowered the light and kept his eyes on Sherlock's. "I know you don't want to stay here longer, but I need you to be honest with me about your brain," he said quietly. God, it would be so easy to lean in and kiss him but he felt guilty about the flirting now -- had he been paying close enough attention, he could have caught this. 

"I'd never lie about my brain, Doctor," Sherlock said. "Ask me anything you want and then you can judge my fitness."

"You no longer have a concussion," John said. "But do you remember -- do you feel dizzy or confused?"  
  
"I'm not confused but I do feel dizzy . . . or maybe I'm just swooning," Sherlock said. "Can I keep your pen forever and ever?"

John nodded. "You can keep it," he said quietly. "Should I send someone to check on you when you're not so affected?"

"I thought you would check on me . . . actually, come to think of it, you're a terrible doctor. I don't think I'd like to work with you anymore. Once I leave this hospital, you should consider it the end of our doctor-patient relationship," Sherlock said smiling.

"I can't say I'm too upset about that," John smiled. He touched Sherlock's cheek lightly.

Sherlock lifted his hand to John's and held it for just a second before turning to shake it. "Thank you for looking after me this evening, Dr Watson," he said. "If I meet someone with a concussion, I'd happily recommend this hospital."

"Tell them not to shout so much at the nurses," John smiled, moving back towards the door again with the papers.

"Hold on," Sherlock said, handing him the still damp business card. "Here, take this. Just in case you need someone to jump in a river for you."

"I won't ask you to do that. But I might ask you to dinner," John smiled. He turned and left again before Sherlock could tell him anything else, submitting the papers and calling the inspector like Sherlock had asked.

Sherlock waited in the bed until someone came to bring his clothes and get him ready to go. He let his head fall on the pillow and he quickly fell asleep.

John met with the detective and explained about the symptoms to look out for. They walked to the room together, and John smiled when he saw Sherlock.

Lestrade trapped his shoulder. "Come on -- you can sleep at home," he said.

Sherlock opened his eyes and was confused by the two men staring at him. Then he remembered. "All right then," he said. "I've been waiting for you all night." He looked over at the doctor and then back at Lestrade. "Any new cases?"

"You're taking the week off -- let's go," Lestrade said.

"I'll be calling to check up on you," John smiled.

"I hope so," Sherlock said, gathering himself together and getting out of the bed. He held up the pen deliberately and put it into his pocket. "Thank you, Dr Watson," he said again.

"You're welcome, Mr Holmes." John walked them out and they left. Finally everyone still around the desk relaxed and John ignored their comments as he went to his usual spot, finishing up the papers.


	2. At The Flat

When John got home he went straight to bed, Sherlock's wet card still in his trousers. He had a dream of jumping into the Thames himself, looking through the murky water for something he'd lost. Everything he touched fell apart in his hands, and he was getting afraid of finding what he was missing. 

When he woke up, it took him a moment to remember what had happened at the hospital overnight. He reached into his pocket for Sherlock's card but it was still wet and, like everything in his dream, had disintegrated to bits. He sighed and got out of bed, considering using the hospital resources for a number, but that would be illegal.

He took a quick shower and sat down at the computer. Maybe he could find Sherlock a different way. He opened the internet and searched for him, stumbling upon his website. John got a bit lost reading through it before remembering what he was there for. He clicked on the message section and bit his lip, thinking.

_Hope you're feeling better. I'm feeling awful because I lost your number. Well, the water ruined it. Anyways, please text me. I'd like to see you._

John added his number and sent the message. He went to find something to eat, keeping his phone close and turned up while he waited.

On the ride home, Lestrade said, "Your brother said you were kicking up a fuss -- I expected to see you strapped down when I got there."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You know Mycroft has a habit of exaggerating," he said. "I was perfectly behaved -- just annoyed I had to be there in the first place."

"Well . . . you know who's to blame for that, right?" Lestrade said.

"There's a whole catalogue of people I hold responsible for the incident . . . would you like me to list them alphabetically or in chronological order?"

"Neither," Lestrade said, pulling up at Baker Street. "I'd like you to get out and go home." He turned off the car. "Do you need help?" he added but Sherlock was already out the door, and Lestrade watched him disappear into the flat.

Sherlock went straight to his room, slipped out of his clothes and into his bed. He rarely craved sleep but at this moment, nothing sounded better. He was gone within minutes.

When he awoke, he felt a little confused about things and then he panicked and remembered the doctor keeping him awake all night, before realising that if he were awake in bed thinking, that meant he obviously hadn't died in his sleep. He stayed in bed for a bit before finally getting up and taking a hot shower. He put on a clean pair of pajamas and his dressing gown and made himself a cup of tea.

He opened his laptop and sat down at the desk. He scanned and ignored most of his email until he spotted one announcing a message via his website. No one read the website, so he was immediately intrigued. At first he thought it might be something involving the case, but then he realised who had sent it. He retrieved his phone.

_Due to the excellent treatment I received at the hospital, I am feeling well. Of course, I do not have a medical degree. Perhaps you'd like to stop by and give me your expert opinion? 221B Baker Street. Your pen is with me. SH_

When the phone sounded beside him John grabbed it up quickly, smiling when he read the message.

_I'll be right over. -JW_

Sherlock got online to find out a bit more about this doctor. He didn't bother getting dressed, but he did put the kettle back on.

John threw on his coat and hailed a cab, fishing out his phone to give the address. It wasn't too far from his own place. He knocked loudly on the door, putting his phone away again. 

When Dr Watson arrived, Sherlock let him in. "Should I call you Dr Watson now or just John?" he asked, motioning for him to sit down.

"John is fine," he said, sitting on the sofa where Sherlock had motioned. "This is a nice place you have."

"Thank you, John," Sherlock said, pouring the tea into mugs. "How do you take your tea?"

"Just milk, please. How are you feeling?" John asked, moving away from the sofa to join him as they spoke.

"I'm fine now, I'm sure. I had a good sleep," he said, handing John a mug. "And how are you? Have you relaxed after your night with a difficult patient?"

"You weren't so bad," John smiled, taking the mug. "I had a good sleep as well so I feel good."

"Good," Sherlock said, taking a drink of tea. "So why have you come here?" he asked. "I mean, I know I invited you, but could you explain why you agreed?"

"Because I like you," John smiled. "I thought your flirting was cute."

Sherlock looked over at him. "I'm not normally like that -- it must have been the head injury," he said. "Were you planning on examining me? Even though you are no longer my doctor anymore, of course," he added.

"I could," John said, sipping his tea to hide the smile. "Just show me where it hurts," he added as he looked up again.

"In my room," Sherlock said. "I mean, I can show you in my room."

"Oh yes, right," John nodded. "Can I leave my mug here?" he asked, setting it on the table.

"I really don't care," Sherlock said, grinning stupidly. He led John into his room. "You're not wearing your white coat? Are you sure you're only here out of medical concern? Are you sure you didn't have something else in mind?" He lifted one hand to John's hair and fiddled with it. 

"You're one to talk, wanting a whole body exam just because your head hurts," John grinned. "Let's have a listen to your heart." He pulled Sherlock's pajama shirt over his head and gasped softly. "I forgot my stethoscope, too. I'll have to do this the old fashioned way," he smiled. He leaned close and lay his ear over Sherlock's chest.

Sherlock snuck his hands around John's waist and slid them up under his shirt. John's face pressed against his skin felt nice. "Well -- is it still working right?" he said quietly.

"Needs to go a bit faster," John murmured, turning his head lightly to kiss over his heart. And then a bit lower, and then he flicked his tongue over Sherlock's nipple before sucking and rolling it between his teeth.

Sherlock exhaled loudly and then began to pull at John's shirt. "Let me check yours," he said.

John pulled away and stepped back a bit, helping Sherlock take his shirt off. His own heart was pounding already, but he opened his arms a little to let Sherlock do as he pleased.

Sherlock held John's shoulders and turned him then pressed him back onto the bed. He crawled up over him, dropping his head to kiss John's mouth and then trailing his tongue down John's neck and across his collarbone. He licked John's left nipple and then turned his head to rest his ear on John's chest. "Yes," he said softly, "it definitely sounds like a heart." He moved his mouth to suck on John's other nipple.

"Racing, I bet," John murmured. He laced his fingers into Sherlock's hair and sighed loudly, arching his body up into Sherlock's mouth.

"Did you come here to have sex with me, Dr Watson?" Sherlock asked, trailing his tongue back up John's neck and nuzzling on his ear.

"Yes -- because that's what you invited me over for," John grinned. He turned his head and found Sherlock's mouth, kissing him hard.  
  
"True," Sherlock said, "but only because you worked your charms on me all night . . . I'm only human, I can only bear so much especially if my weakened state." He began rocking his hips against John's.

"Oh God…" John moaned softly, matching Sherlock's movement. "I couldn't help myself…look at you…"

Sherlock lifted his head and looked at John's face. "I know you were at work and it was probably unfair of me. You behaved appropriately, of course, but…are you saying you really were tempted?" He didn't know why he wanted to know -- yes, he did, he did know. He _never_ did things like that . . . maybe it had started out a bit silly, but the doctor really had had some kind of effect on him.

"You did tempt me several times," John nodded, petting his hair. "You were being adorable and sexy, and I could hardly stand it."

Sherlock smiled. He leaned down and kissed John again, softly at first and then urgently as he began rocking his hips again. He slid a hand down to John's waist and gripped the top of his trousers. "Should we remove these?"

"Yes please," John smiled, shifting to help lift his hips and get them off. "And you as well . . . I was in the middle of an examination," he teased.

Sherlock pulled John's trousers off and then took his own pajama bottoms. He pulled John up further on the bed and lay next to him. He kissed his mouth again and reached down to hold his cock for a few minutes as they kissed. Then he started a slow stroke. "You feel good," he moaned softly against John's neck.

John moaned softly and pushed into his hand, reaching down to reciprocate. "You do as well . . .I want to feel more. Everything," John murmured against his lips.

Sherlock kissed John hard, biting his lip a bit. "You . . ." he said, leaving it a bit vague because all that was in his head was his desire -- which started last night and was now about to explode. 

"Me what?" John asked, shifting to get on top of Sherlock. He rutted down against him, moaning softly. "Christ . . . you're so sexy . . ."

"How sexy?" Sherlock said looking up at his handsome face and lifting his hips against John's movement.

John pressed his mouth to Sherlock's ear, nipping at the lobe. "Sexy enough to make me want to fuck you," he murmured.

"Prove it," Sherlock said.

John grinned and moved back a bit, stroking Sherlock. "Where do you have supplies?"

Sherlock pulled himself up and reached into the bedside cabinet. "You're a doctor but you didn't come prepared? Shame on you," he said, tossing the bottle and condom to John.

John just smiled and rolled the condom on. He grabbed Sherlock's hips and pulled him closer, pouring lube onto his fingers and rubbing Sherlock's entrance before pushing his finger inside.

Sherlock adjusted his body a little, took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. "Good," he moaned softly.

"Good," John said back, pumping his finger faster before slowly adding another. He spread them gently, opening Sherlock as he stroked himself lightly with his free hand.

"If you had done this last night, it would have made my night much easier to get through," Sherlock said, smiling. He lifted his hand to John's head and pulled him down for a kiss. "I quite like you, Dr Watson," he said and then dropped his head back down to the bed. He concentrated on the feeling of John's fingers inside him. 

"If I had done this last night you wouldn't be able to call me that anymore," John grinned. He kissed Sherlock's mouth again, and then he dipped lower to suck and nip at his neck. That's when he added the third finger, properly pumping his hand into Sherlock. "I'm going to fuck you now," he murmured against his skin. John came up, pulled his fingers out, and after putting a bit more lube on his cock he pushed into Sherlock, slowly filling him. 

Sherlock called out at John's movement. He took some deep breaths and adjusted his body. He looked up at John. "You don't muck about," he said and smiled. He closed his eyes again and let his body move in response to John's movements. He made soft noises in pleasure.

John paused when he called out, slowing down even more. He bit his lip as he started a slow rhythm. "I'm sorry . . . are you okay? You're just . . . you're so sexy." 

Sherlock opened his eyes. "I'm good . . . . you feel good." He curled his hips up to meet John's. "Don't stop," Sherlock said.

"I won't . . . I won't stop," he murmured. He kissed Sherlock's mouth hard, rolling his hips into Sherlock. He was tight and hot and it felt incredible. "Christ . . .you feel so . . . so good," he moaned. 

Sherlock's hands squeezed John's arm and then he slipped one down to his own cock and began pumping it, trying to follow the rhythm of John's thrusts. "Fuck," he said but couldn't really make any more words so he closed his eyes again and just let his body react to all the movement. 

John kissed Sherlock's mouth hard again. "Fuck Sherlock . . . I'm close already." He closed his eyes and tried to breathe to calm down a bit, but not watching only made him _feel_ so much more. "God . . . " he whimpered, biting his lip to wait.

"Don't stop -- let go," Sherlock said. His hand sped up and he reached up to kiss him again. "Show me," he hissed into the kiss.

"Fuck," John groaned. He was slamming into Sherlock now, calling out for him as he came. His orgasm crashed through him -- burning through every nerve as he tried to keep moving for Sherlock. 

John's orgasm was so sexy -- the hard thrusts were incredible -- and Sherlock felt the heat go through him and he came over his hand as he spilled over it. "Fuck," he called out again, his back arching off the bed. He pulled John against him, trying to slide out his wet hand and rested it next to them on the bed. "Fuck, Dr Watson, that was -- good," he looked over at him and smiled.

John slowly pulled out of him and tied off the condom, tossing it in the bin before curling into Sherlock. "That was incredible," he murmured. 

"It was," Sherlock said. "I'm glad you came to check on me." He stroked his arm softly. "You know I said I don't usually do what I did last night? Well, I don't normally do this either -- I just wanted you to . . . I just wanted you."

John flushed lightly and smiled. "I suppose I should take that as a compliment. And you should know I have never, ever allowed myself to be seduced by a patient," he grinned. 

"Well, it's a good thing I'm no longer your patient. I wouldn't want to damage your appropriate behaviour record," Sherlock said. "You're the first doctor I've ever had, if that makes you feel better. Usually I avoid them like the plague."

"Well, that's a bit hard to keep up when you're brought in against your will. And half dead," John said. 

"I wasn't half dead. I'm fit enough now, aren't I?" he said.

John grinned and pressed a kiss on his chest. "You are fit enough but I promise you were half dead," he said. 

"Don't say that -- if I was that close to death, you shouldn't have left me alone for so long," Sherlock said, smiling.

"I brought you back," John said, looking up at him. "And then I left you. And only for a little bit!"

"Well . . . whatever you did, it obviously worked a treat," Sherlock said. He stretched his arms out a little and yawned. "I'm tired again -- that's a symptom of impending death, is it?"

"No, it's a symptom of a good time," John grinned. He sat up a bit on his elbow, not knowing of he should stay or go. "Do you want to sleep?"

"I do," Sherlock said. "You can stay if you want." He curled up a bit. "But it's okay if you've got to go or something. Your work here is done, as they say." He smiled genuinely at John and then closed his eyes.

John didn't like the thought of running off right after all of this. "I don't have anything to do, but if the job's done . . ." He shrugged and sat up properly, moving to get his clothes back on. "So . . . I suppose I'll see you around?" 

Sherlock opened his eyes. He kind of wished John would stay, but it would be a bit ridiculous to insist. John didn't owe him anything. "Maybe you could just stay for a little bit . . . to make sure I don't die in my sleep?" He rolled over a bit. "For a half hour maybe? I don't want to take up all your time, but it'd be nice if you . . . just stayed a little longer."

John smiled and let his trousers fall again, laying back down in bed. "I would like to stay," he nodded. "I could use a small nap myself. But I will also make sure that you don't die," he added, smiling wider. 

"Thank you," Sherlock said. "I knew that if I appealed to your sense of goodness, you'd stay a bit." He moved a little closer to John, resting his hand on his chest. "If I do die, dress me before you call 999 though -- I don't want you to have to answer any awkward questions," he smiled lightly and let his eyes close again.

"They'll think I killed you -- I'm not that good in bed," John grinned. 

"I found you quite good indeed. All last night when you forced me to stay in bed, I wished you had been in it with me. Now you are and I'm glad," his voice was sleepy but he smiled as his fingers moved even more slowly.

John smiled and closed his own eyes. "Rest now -- doctor's orders," he smiled. 

Sherlock fell into a deep sleep. At first his mind was completely clear but then pictures slowly snuck in. A man. The Thames. But it wasn't the case. John was the man and he and Sherlock were walking by the river. They were holding hands. Sherlock was laughing -- Sherlock was happy.

John slept lightly, just a cat nap really, holding onto Sherlock the whole time. He woke up before Sherlock, looking over at him and smiling softly.

Sherlock's body was fully relaxed -- in a way that hadn't been for quite some time, even last night when he'd been sedated. It was better being in his own bed.

John touched his cheek lightly before slipping out of bed. He went to the bathroom, then imposed on Sherlock's kitchen to make some tea before coming back to the room. He put the mugs on the bedside tables before climbing back in and carefully getting into his spot again.

Sherlock opened his eyes to the movement. He looked drowsily over at John. "Hi," he said in a sleepy voice.

"Hello," John said quietly. "Sorry -- I just needed the bathroom. And tea," he smiled.

Sherlock sat up a bit and took a sip. "Thanks," he said. "I wasn't sure if you'd stay."

"I wouldn't sneak out on you," John smiled.

"I appreciate that," Sherlock said, "though you do know that I would have snuck out of that hospital if I could have." He smiled a little.

"I'm very glad you didn't," John grinned.

"Me too," Sherlock said. "And I'm glad you were the one 'checking' on me." He drank some more tea.

"I _was_ checking! And maybe flirting a bit, but mostly checking." John grinned.

"A bit more than 'flirting', I think, Doctor," Sherlock said smiling. He leaned over and gave him a little kiss. "Sorry -- I hope that was okay," he said, sitting up a little. "I suppose I should get up and face the world at some point."

"It was okay. And yes, I believe you should as well. I know I have to," John smiled.

"All right then," Sherlock stretched and slipped off the bed. "Are you back at the hospital tonight then?"

"I am," John nodded. "I should go home and get ready."

"Well, maybe you'll meet a lovely wet consulting detective who'll make your evening go faster," Sherlock said, smiling.

"I doubt I'll be so lucky twice," John grinned. "And don't go throwing yourself in the river to see me. Just call me."

"Right," Sherlock said and wondered if John really meant it and wondered if he did as well.

John got dressed again and walked out to the sitting room with him. "So . . . I suppose I'll see you later," he said.

"Here," Sherlock said, handing John one of his cards. "This one's not wet. Just in case . . . ."

John took the card and put it safely into his wallet. "Thank you, Sherlock. I'll save the number as well when I get a chance." He stood there awkwardly for a moment before leaning in to hug him. "See you," he said, moving for the door.

Sherlock gave John a quick squeeze and watched him walk out. He smiled a bit to himself. It'd been a strange twenty four hours, but that was a nice way to have ended it. He made himself a fresh cup of tea and moved over to his desk to check emails. There were a few possibilities so he got in touch to set up appointments. He made himself eat something after a couple of hours and dealt with an annoying phone call from his brother.

John took a cab home and went straight into the shower, thinking about his time with Sherlock. He wanted to see him again and he hoped that it would work out that way. He ate a quick lunch and then went into work. Maybe he'd text Sherlock in the morning and see about getting together again, maybe a proper date. His mind drifted to that several times as he worked.

Sherlock went out in the early evening to pick up a few things for the flat. When he returned, he worked late into the night, writing up notes and finishing an experiment he had started the day before he ended up in the Thames. Then he tidied it all away. Eventually he went to bed. Climbing in, he remembered what had happened there earlier that day. It was a nice memory. He leaned over and set his alarm and then went to sleep with the memory.

When the alarm went off, he rolled out of bed, leaning over to pull the cover up and smoothing it out. He went in for a shower and then emerged, fully dressed and looking smart. He set two mugs out on the table and left the flat.

John had a boring night. Everyone slept and there was no checking on patients or lively conversation. He worked on paperwork all night, looking at Sherlock's card again as he had lunch. And then finally the night was over. He filed away the papers in their charts and left, squinting when he walked out into the sun.

Sherlock was leaning against the hospital wall and when John came out, he quickly fell into step with him. "There's breakfast at the flat," he said simply as if he had greeted John like this after every one of his late night shifts. He reached over for John's hand as they walked. "Your night go all right?"

John grinned stupidly, holding his hand back and nodding. "Very boring. And I hope you remembered eggs -- I'm starved," he said. His stomach was flipping happily. 

"We've got eggs," Sherlock said. "I was doing an experiment and was surprised by the results. Perhaps I could pick your brain when we get home?" He glanced over. "After breakfast and maybe a nap?"

When Sherlock said 'home' John grinned wider, looking up at him but only for a second before slipping back into character. "A nap sounds lovely," John nodded. He squeezed Sherlock's hand lightly. It was better than anything he could have hoped for -- better than another date. He silently thanked the criminal that brought Sherlock to him.


End file.
